


The Bearing of Gifts

by wreathed



Series: Best of Wives [1]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Era, Double Penetration, F/M, Face-Sitting, Letters, M/M, Multi, Pegging, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 16:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6383719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Some men, particularly the kinds with a great deal of work and responsibility in their daily duties, evidently wish each night for brief reprises from having to make each and every decision. And your Alexander works so terribly hard.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bearing of Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Laurens lives, because it's about time I wrote some happy porn. Set post-war, pre-Reynolds.

When a short stack of mail is delivered to their townhouse that afternoon, Eliza is delighted to find, beneath several letters addressed to Alexander as response to his myriad correspondence, an envelope addressed by Angelica’s slanted hand. Knowing the likely contents of the letter, she makes sure she is for certain alone in the room she steals into, and eagerly tears open the paper.

 

_My dear sister,_

_When I received your most recent correspondence, I must admit I was not quite as shocked as you seem to assume that I might be. Indeed, I am relieved that you still entreat yourself to me even though we can no longer speak face to face. As you mentioned in your letter, I too miss when we could talk more directly, whether curled up in bed or in some quiet spot in the garden at Catherine Street. I am today, just as I was back then, happy to be your confidante; in my absence, this written advice must suffice._

_Some men, particularly the kinds with a great deal of work and responsibility in their daily duties, evidently wish each night for brief reprises from having to make each and every decision. And your Alexander works so terribly hard. Have you not ever, dear sister, stared down at your latest carefully-budgeted shopping list and wished for greater agency? Further power? This feeling can also be used to your advantage behind bedroom doors, a role reversal of sorts, and indeed it often is enacted if several of my good friends here are to be trusted. (You know what they say about Parisiennes.)_

_In response to the concern that you implied, I would suggest providing a way for Alexander to indicate non-verbally if he is in any real discomfort or danger. I hope this is clear; unfortunately, it is simply impossible for me to commit everything I would like to discuss to paper._

_I hope you do not take exception to this course of action, but I have also taken the liberty of writing to Lt Col John Laurens to ask him for his advice and experience in a particular matter. If my intuition transpires to be correct, he may be in touch with you in due course._

_I thought it expedient to provide this information to you as soon as possible; you will receive a longer letter from me in the next few days detailing my life’s goings-on, such as they are, &c._

_Angelica_

 

*

That evening, all possible work for that day completed yet his state of mania still present, Alexander’s frenetic attentions are turned from his prolific writing to Eliza in their marital bed. 

They are positioned beside each other on the side of the bed, and he is covering her mouth, jaw and neck in fast, tender kisses. Eliza feels her heart flutter upon each one. One hand of Alexander’s moves to her breasts, the other coming to rest on her upper thigh. They could continue on the course that Alexander is setting quite happily, but all Eliza can think of is the request he made so sweetly a few weeks prior, the request that Eliza had written to Angelica about. And now she has Angelica’s reply, safely hidden in her jewelry box, and she has had time to think about it, and she wants. She wants to try it. It must be easier than all this endless _thinking_ about it.

“Alexander,” Eliza says against his lips, then again to ensure he draws back from her, a slight frown between his eyebrows. “If you can be reminded of our conversation in this bed several weeks ago, when you made a request – I am willing and able to do what you ask of me now, I think.”

The frown disappears, to be replaced by comprehension, then a dark, half-lidded gaze. “Eliza,” Alexander voices, looking at her with adoration. “My love, it was a request, not a command. If you are not comfortable…”

“I assure you, I am very comfortable,” she replies, and Alexander kisses her fully on the lips. Eliza feels heat build within her again. “It will make a pleasant change to see you do what I say.” She laughs at her own jest, and Alexander responds in kind, although he combines his smile with a look that is both disbelieving and excited.

“Yes,” Alexander says simply, looking straight at her, and she smiles as she moves to stand.

She undresses slowly and carefully in front of him – unlacing her gown and stepping out of it, along with her shoes, unfastening her stays and removing her undergarments. She is completely devoid of clothing when she goes to Alexander, who is sitting obediently still on the side of the bed, his hands tucked underneath his thighs, and following her movement with wide eyes. One look at the placket of his breeches demonstrates to Eliza that Alexander could not be more deeply desirous for her attentions. 

Now standing right next to the bed, she tugs Alexander’s hair out of its queue and gently pulls his hair back, so that his neck is exposed. Her rate of breathing increases as much from nervousness as from desire, the former emotion heightened in the brief moment where Alexander’s eyes scrunch closed as if he is in great pain, but in a moment he has opened them again and he gives out a soft sound of desire, color rising in his cheeks. Eliza, standing over him still, leans down to kiss him passionately, keeping her hand gripped firmly to his now-loosened hair.

“Alexander,” she murmurs in his ear. “Promise me that if there is any moment in the course of this evening when you cannot breathe, if you could please… please, tap the outside of my thigh three times with your hand for me.”

Alexander gives a single nod, eyes dark, looking as if his head is too thick with desire for him to speak. Face buried against her husband’s neck, Eliza allows herself to smile at this novel speechlessness.

Satisfied by this promise, she takes off his boots so his feet will be able to lie on the bed without dirtying it, then strips him above the waist to his undershirt, and shucks the remainder of the clothes covering his lower body down to his ankles. Repeatedly, Alexander leans back into her touch, clearly wanting more, but she aims to keep her attentions light and efficient, bordering on dismissive.

With her hands, she guides him to lie flat on the bed. At the relative lack of attention he is being paid, Alexander squirms. His cock, now freed, is hard and dark in color against his stomach.

“Please, darling,” he says, looking up at her. “I love you so. I can barely take this waiting. Sit astride me. You know I can give you pleasure.”

“Shh, Alexander,” Eliza says, bringing a finger to his lips. “I am deciding, remember.” 

“ _Yes_ ,” says Alexander, but Eliza, desperate for the closeness of their bodies herself, allows herself just one running over of Alexander’s lithe, taut body, from the fan of his hair to his effectively bound ankles, before swallowing – hoping her nervousness will go down with it – and mounting Alexander like a gentleman would a horse. She faces his body; her bent knees bracket his upper arms and, keeping most of her weight on her own legs at this stage, she lowers herself down onto Alexander’s parted lips.

She sighs in pleasure as he licks at where her flesh parts, and his hands clench in the bedding as he moans, the vibration running through her, Alexander apparently pleased to find how slick she is.

Alexander is well-practiced at this, it is just that previously she has always been the one lying back on the bed, Alexander between her legs. As she drifts into the jolts of pleasure Alexander provides her, her head lolls to the side and her thighs relax, and so as more of her weight rests on Alexander, his breaths come harsher and harsher. Gripped between her thighs, he cannot move his head any more than what is required to bring her to completion.

Mindful of the quickening rise and fall of his chest, but also of the fact that Alexander’s hands remain flat against the bed and not tapping against her, she begins to grind back and forth against his mouth. The action is simplified by how slick she has made Alexander’s mouth and chin, and she realizes her wetness must cover much of him. He is _hers_ more so than ever in this moment, his attention cannot possibly be anywhere but between her thighs, and if this is an experience open to her of agency, of power, it is a commandingly attractive one.

She cannot prevent the short moans from falling from her mouth as she rubs herself against Alexander, as she feels his lips and tongue against her. As her voice rises higher, Alexander makes a sudden grasp for his likely aching cock and begins to furiously pull himself off.

Eliza reaches out on instinct; she is close to her own completion, and does not want Alexander's ministrations to be distracted.

She bends her neck so that she is looking back and down to him. “You should finish serving me before attending to yourself,” she chides gently, smiling, and at that simple action Alexander moans loudly and wildly, the sound muffled by her own body, thrusting up into empty air.

She keeps his wrist steadfast pinned to the mattress after that. 

Alexander speeds up his attentions, and it is not long before Eliza clamps her thighs even tighter to his face to steady herself as she comes with a peaked wave of pleasure, conscious first of the sweat prickling at the back of her neck as she comes down from her high, and then of Alexander still being beneath her. She raises herself on her legs and turns her head to look back at him. His pupils are blown and his lips are shiny from _her_ ; he takes several great, gasping breaths before finding his voice to say: “Please, if you will forgive me, resume your previous position and– oh, _please_ Eliza, let me spend myself. You need do nothing except use me like a stool again; I will do it.”

“Very well,” she says, still short of breath, and carefully lowers herself back onto Alexander’s face. She lets go of his wrist and he grasps ‘round himself, Eliza watching from her position of vantage. It is a very short interval of time before he spends against his own hand with a great groan against her flesh, his release covering his stomach. Eliza then rises once more, for she can’t help but worry over the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and leaves Alexander breathing hard to go and find a cloth to wipe down his face and belly.

After this, she draws the blankets over them both. She kisses him, noting how much he smells and tastes like her.

“Thank you, Alexander,” she murmurs gently in his ear. “Was I good for you?”

“Eliza, you were everything I ever dreamed of,” Alexander told her earnestly. “It is you _I_ need to thank.” He kisses her, although she can see from his heavy eyelids that their activities have brought him a feeling of sleepiness. It is a comfort to her to know he is going to sleep tonight.

She throws her arms around his waist and rests her head against his shoulder. She whispers to him questions as he drift off to sleep, ones that amount to _why did you ask me for this?_ , her tone curious rather than disparaging, and he tells her with the slow cadence of the sated that he likes that he has a clear purpose, that he can please her, that he is forced to stop thinking of speeches and debates and words suitable for them. She thinks she understands then, and drifts off to sleep with Alexander in her arms. When she rises the next morning to get the children ready for their journey upstate (where they will spend the summer), Alexander has already left for the confines of his study.

*

After much deliberation, Eliza does write to Angelica the next day, as obliquely as possible, thanking her for her advice but also asking her consideration on a further matter that Alexander did not clarify when they were talking in bed afterwards: why was Alexander never more pleased than when she denied him, when he has to work so hard for everything he has? Angelica’s letter in response covers many matters but ends in a postscript, no context given, saying: _He is used to being denied, perhaps. Or else that you came to him too easily, and he feels he does not deserve you._

*

The next letter Eliza receives (reams of ink-heavy paper arriving for Alexander in the interim), is not from any of her siblings, nor from her father or mother – the sum total of her usual partners in correspondence, if one discounts her requesting of their greengrocer and butcher an extension of credit for items bought on account. The next letter is from John Laurens. 

Remembering with a jump in her throat Angelica’s previous writing to her of a _particular matter_ , she tucks the page into her stays before taking the rest of the post through to her husband. In any case, nothing has fallen ill of Laurens and so there is no need to immediately inform Alexander of the engagement of correspondence. He has written to Alexander also, it transpires: as soon as he takes it from the pile, he reads to her with pride Laurens’s latest activities, mostly of his admirable abolitionist efforts.

Between this enjoyable moment in Alexander’s study and the unenviable job of cleaning the pantry, Eliza goes to their bedroom to read the letter alone.

 

_To Mrs. Hamilton,_

_I send the below to you after receiving a letter from your sister, Mrs. Angelica Church. From how she tells it, you are as eager as anyone who loves and cares for Hamilton would be for ways to delight and distract him from his overwork._

_As she suspected, as one of Hamilton’s closest friends I have known him exactly as well as you have. I knew him best many years ago, you understand; when we both very young men, flung together in the midst of a miserable war, both concerned for the future of our to-be-a-nation. It was all ahead of Hamilton’s marriage to yourself, when he was quite alone in the world and in dire need of a friend. I applied myself to this end enthusiastically, as there was no-one else I had (or have) ever been more drawn to – to his fierce intelligence, to his good humor in the most trying of circumstances, just as I believe you must have been to take his hand in marriage, even though he is a man of limited financial means. I hope it is a comforting rather than worrying thought to you that there is another who shares your appreciation for this man, and also that he was tenderly loved even amongst the disease and other horrors (that I shall not go into here) of Valley Forge._

_As to Mrs. Church’s letter: Hamilton likes best, at least I have found, to be the focus of proceedings, but perhaps not in the way you think. Some men feel that that they are being focused on if they get to do exactly what they want to do, and their commands are followed. Hamilton, in the same way as he revels in the applause of intellectuals and congressmen, above all seeks approval, and therefore his desire is of secondary importance. He is in the habit of _performing_ for others, and this is what makes his presence important. Therefore, ask for what you yourself desire, and he will happily provide. This is the method I found most effective in getting him to step away from President (then General) Washington’s matters and rest awhile._

_This has the advantage of your wants and his wants becoming one of the same. If he has already fulfilled, to your mind, your every desire in existence, think of something else to engage him with. His mouth, as it is so industrious, is best served occupied, whether with words or deeds. As to what Hamilton favors when you are engaged in the godly act through which offspring are created, I cannot speak to this: I have little experience in the matter myself and, in any case, every man on this earth is different in his preferences._

_We may have met only briefly, and my eye for which women are to be or not to be considered handsome may not be especially strong, but I know from his impassioned air that Hamilton loves and adores you, and if Hamilton thinks you are beautiful then I think the same, for I would trust that man’s opinion on any possible matter. I hope this letter is of some use to you._

_I have the honor to be etc.,  
Col. John Laurens_

 

Eyes wide as she finishes reading, Eliza takes a deep, steadying breath. She dearly wishes this missive could be kept but it would not be safe to do so, even in her locked jewelry box, for in her estimations it contained too damning an implication. Did Laurens forget himself? _He is a wealthy man with a wealthy family,_ Alexander would say. _It is not the same for him._ Yet Eliza was not sure, for she knew one thing of being of a wealthy family: they had the habit of creating a level of expectation that took great courage to break.

She scans over the letter again, and a flush comes to her cheeks. It brings her comfort to think of her husband’s needs being attended to, surrounded by so much horror as they were. Alexander has yet to tell her in detail exactly what life was like in the mud and the blood. Perhaps, she thinks a little sadly, he will never manage to.

And yet… whilst plenty is new and fascinating information, the letter ultimately only underlines what she has already found out by doing. She hungers for _more_. What should she do, what did _they_ used to do, how did they… position themselves.

She reads the letter one more time, then takes it to the low fire in their drawing room and throws it to the flames. Then she stokes it with a fresh log.

She does not have time then for an immediate response but, after thinking on it all day with her mind freed up for little else, writes back in the evening thusly:

 

_Dear Col. Laurens,_

_I thank you for your letter, which was very if not comprehensively illustrative. Having said that, it was still too free, I feel, with the subject matter in some senses, and I have with some sadness burned the page (for I am not upset by its contents – rather, the opposite – merely concerned if some ill-wisher should come across it one day and make something of its implication)._

_Do not fear: I am pleased to hear of Alexander comforted and cared for, especially in such harsh circumstances. I would be grateful for any further advice or recommendations you can give me, however, for I can think of no better person to detail to me Alexander’s true desires. Even tales of your previous deeds may help, for I may be able to attempt to recreate these times of pleasure and joy. Alexander himself is generally opaque in these matters, for if I broach the subject he assures me I already do more than he could ever ask or expect of me. I am keen for any further ways in which to encourage him towards the advantages of quiet home life not only for his health and my satisfaction, but also to provide for him in my own ways as well as he provides for me._

_You are kind to call me handsome, even if only through the prism of my husband’s experience – as to what I think of your appearance and temperament, I would say the same of you, not only through the prism of Alexander’s opinions but also my own opinion of your daring, intelligent letter. In addition, when we last met, which I believe was at our wedding, I remember you to be charming and full of good words for Alexander. If it happens that you are soon to be in this part of the country, why not visit, reacquaint yourself with both of us and decide your thoughts on us for yourself? We would both be very happy to welcome you into our home._

_I do not dare sign this letter, but I am sure you know from whose hand it came. I ask you please to burn once read._

 

*

Eliza tears open the next letter she receives from Laurens particularly eagerly, but it is only concerned with logistics, rather than an answer to her query. However, far more happily, it contains details of his impending physical presence:

 

_Dear Mrs. Hamilton,_

_To just say I will be passing through New York City on my way from Charleston to Boston (to handle some dull, drawn-out financial matter) in only ten days’ time, and I have already told Hamilton as such. I will entrust on your previously-given word that you will extend your kind hospitality, which I very much look forward to, for a single night before I continue my journey the following morning. I am happy to stay in one of the children’s rooms if there is no space otherwise – Ham. has informed me they are at your parents’ residence until September. I will see you shortly and I ride in great anticipation,_

_J.L._

 

*

On the afternoon of Laurens’s date of arrival, the townhouse door knocker is sounded. Not expecting any guests at this time, Eliza settles down the frock she was embroidering and goes to the door, expecting a mail delivery. She was surprised to see not a post rider but Colonel Laurens himself, holding a tightly wrapped package.

He hands it to her silently at the door, makes an exaggerated motion of _shh_ with his finger on his lips, lets his face morph into a boyish grin, then turns back to the street.

That was very odd. Laurens was not due to arrive into New York until this evening, at least going on what he has told Alexander. Why had he not remained or else fully announced himself? He must have other business in the city, she supposed, but who would Laurens hold in greater importance than Alexander or, considering recent events, herself?

She feels the shape of the parcel’s contents, through the paper, under her fingers. It feels roughly of the same shape and size of an appendage she only became familiar with when she became a wife, but that similarity was surely coincidental.

Her touch runs over a square of paper with a different texture, and she realizes a note is attached. In the haste and forgetfulness of the most potent kind of excitement, Eliza stands and reads the letter right there in the hallway.

 

_My friend, Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton,_

_I have one further observation and suggestion I have not sent by mail: you will have doubtless heard many men talk of Hamilton’s feminine traits. With his smooth hair and slim figure, I have found that he can play the woman’s part very convincingly, especially if you happen not to be face to face._

_I look forward to enjoying both of your presences at our meal this evening. I hope you do not take offense at my gift which, if you are as curious as you say you are, will allow you to create a near equivalent experience with Hamilton as I once enjoyed. I would have sent it many weeks earlier, but I did not dare entrust it to the postal service._

_I have the honor–_

 

“What do you have there?” Alexander asks her, as he passes the front door on the way back to his study after making water. Eliza starts, the note almost dropping from her hands.

“Mr Burr,” she says, at a slightly odd staccato, heat rising in her cheeks. “That china vase he knocked over the last time he was here to see you. He sends a new one.”

“Unusually thoughtful of him. May I see it? It looks to be a most curiously shaped vessel,” Alexander says, smiling gently, eyeing the paper it is wrapped in.

Eliza, panicked, looks around their hallway as if hoping to find a distraction. Her eyes fall on the open study door. “Are you not due to be writing, husband?” Eliza tells him.

“Good God, you are right, of course,” Alexander exclaims, eyes widening as he rushes back to his desk, parcel totally forgotten, and Eliza feels a twinge of guilt for distracting him with the aspect of his life it is usually the hardest to distract him from, an aspect at cost to his health and, at times, his humanity.

 

_–to be, Madam, your obedient servant,_

_John Laurens_

 

Eliza stares at the name on the page, written as politely, if a little familiarly, as if the letter had been a genuine missive on a new vase or some other trivial matter. Laurens’s words feeds a dark warmth in her belly. They had done… _everything_ , it seems, as young men, and thanks to Laurens she might now be armed to fill Alexander’s mind this way with bliss instead of tasks yet to be completed, for a time.

When she goes to their bedroom (Alexander still hard at work downstairs) and at last opens the parcel, her cheeks burn. It is not an especially thick example, she supposes, as she can grasp her hand around the ivory in the same way as she can around Alexander. There are leather straps, which have only one possible place on her to fit around, and there is also a jar of something like thickened oil. She hoists up her skirts and practices putting it on, lump in her throat and giddy with anticipation, adjusting the harness to fit her. She looks down at herself, and has to stifle a giggle; the carved ivory itself is beautiful although obscene, but on her it does look a little silly. _Still,_ she thinks, as her stomach flutters in anticipatory pleasure upon the thought of Alexander being even half as close to as focused as he was when he was underneath her, those weeks ago.

It is a very pleasing thought, she thinks. Before her marriage, after hearing via Angelica that there were so many women that did not take to being… taken, she would not have dreamed a man would ever submit themselves to this. But then she found that she was lucky enough to enjoy her husband inside her very much, and if this was something (with their own flesh and blood) that her husband and Laurens used to do with each other, she saw no reason why she might not investigate this phenomenon for herself.

With some reluctance, she tucks the device back in its paper and puts it under the bed for the time being – it is time for her to prepare the meal the three of them will be eating tonight. The children still being away at Catherine Street, at least time spent on their own separate meal is not a necessary expenditure of time.

*

Laurens arrives just as Eliza has the food on the table, and upon Alexander leading him into the dining room and his first making of eye contact with her, she blushes profusely. Laurens, however, shows no outward signs of noticing anything untoward beyond (Eliza swears) a brief, playful flash of his eyes in her direction. Otherwise, Laurens merely chooses to take her hand and kiss it politely in greeting. 

Supper is a whole lemon sole cooked in fresh butter, served with potatoes and string beans. The wine is some of the best they have, sent over to them by John Church. Laurens spends most of the meal regaling them with tales of his life since he and Alexander had last seen one another. On occasion, he suggests of something less than entirely innocent, and Alexander always laughs, and Eliza always looks down at her food, heart pounding. Prior to Alexander’s initial request for her to use him, she would have been even more nervous than this, she decides, but she is buoyed by her previous success.

“Laurens,” Eliza begins bravely once everyone’s plates had been cleared of plum cake bar stray crumbs, her hand steady on her wine glass. “I am going up to bed. I was wondering if, after you and Alexander have finished your drinks, if you would deliver Alexander to our bedroom. You see, I do not want him working late into the night again.”

“Of course,” Laurens says, looking as if he is trying to suppress a wide smile. “Hamilton will be up shortly.”

“Laurens!” Alexander exclaims. “Do you not welcome the opportunity as much as I do to ruminate over old times?” He looks offended, and Eliza makes in her head a silent apology. She hopes Angelica and Laurens are right about her husband, and that this brief moment of hurt will be worth it overall.

“Of course I welcome it, Hamilton,” Laurens tells him. “But you cannot keep your wife waiting.”

She closes the door behind him, and hopes that Laurens will keep Alexander in a jolly mood.

Upstairs, she lights several candles, takes down her hair, changes into the plain white nightgown she usually sleeps in, and hikes up the ankle-length skirt to attach Laurens’s gift. She drops the skirt once she is done and grins to herself, alone in their low-lit room, as she looks down and sees herself as if she is a man excited.

She jumps with a start as she hears Alexander and Laurens’s excitable chatter and laughter travel up the stairs. “The lady insisted, dear boy,” Laurens is saying. “I _will_ accompany you. You will thank me for it later.”

The door opens. Eliza has her back to them as they enter.

“Goodnight, friend,” Laurens says, as Alexander steps across the threshold, although to Eliza’s eye he lingers a little too long, perhaps in hope, by the doorway.

“Stay, Laurens,” Eliza says, feeling a tremble of nervousness through her body. “Please. I feel this will go better if you are here to guide us.”

“Eliza?” says Alexander. “Whatever do you mean?”

She turns to face them, and watches as Alexander’s gaze travels down her body, noting the precise moment at which his eyes widen. It seems he is struck speechless. He walks towards her, shod feet audible on the wooden floor. He places a trembling hand over the tent in her gown and feels the hardness there. Alexander flushes, and his mouth falls open. 

“My love, you do not have to do this,” Alexander says thickly. “I did not ask you for this only because I never would have thought, never would have expected–”

“I assure you, I am very comfortable,” Eliza says, to keep him calm and quiet. “Would you be so good as to shut the door behind you, Laurens,” Eliza says, falling back on the idea that she can be commanding, and as Laurens is still hovering in the doorway. From what she hears he obeys her instruction. But the only person she has eyes for is her Alexander, who is looking at her with as much love and awe and lust as he did on their wedding night.

Once the door is shut, Alexander slowly, oh so slowly – at his gentle touch and at his anticipation, she feels a heavy swoop of arousal in her abdomen – lifts up the skirt of her nightgown, using the other hand to trace a maddening line all the way up her legs as they are slowly revealed to him, until the harness and its appendage is revealed to him in full.

Alexander looks between her and Laurens, his mouth open in happy shock.

“My _God_ ,” Alexander gasps, keeping Eliza’s skirt lifted by both of his hands. As if the action is not fully conscious, he sinks to his knees in front of Eliza, shining eyes looking up at her.

In this moment, her eyes do fall to Laurens, who is standing ramrod straight by the door. A heavy blush covers his face, and he has one hand pressed hard over the front of his breeches as he watches them.

“What do you think Alexander should do now, Laurens?” Eliza asks, a quiver to her voice.

“Open your mouth, Hamilton,” Laurens replies, looking at Eliza as he says it. “Get it nice and wet.” 

Eliza has never quite seen her husband like _this_ before. Immediately upon Laurens’s command, Alexander curves forward and takes the ivory length almost to the base. It may not be a part of her body, but Eliza feels deeply both the pressure of its base press pleasurably against her, and the psychological thrill of seeing Alexander’s mouth stretched, seeing him take it in. Saliva soon coats the length of it, and is smeared across Alexander’s chin and plumped-up lips. 

Eliza is put out of her reverie at the sound of Laurens’s footsteps, his eyes on Alexander. “What does Alexander look like,” Eliza asks Laurens as he walks towards her and Alexander, finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on what she is saying, “When he’s taken?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Laurens says, as they both watch Alexander’s spine curve as he goes down, up. “He gets… beyond anything. He is so pleased by it you could ask him for the name of the president of our great nation and he would not be able to provide you with the answer.”

Alexander lifts his lips off with a wet sort of sound. “I would never fail to recall the name of General Washington,” he says hotly. Eliza and Laurens both laugh and grin at each other, amused.

“We shall see, Hamilton,” Laurens says quietly, almost to himself. Then he reaches forward and pulls Alexander’s hair free. Alexander makes a choked-off sound from Laurens’s gentle pull, and Eliza is reminded that she is not the only one who knows some of Alexander’s secrets. 

“Please,” Alexander whines, looking up at Eliza as if she truly owns him. “The pressure… may we please divest ourselves of our clothes?”

Eliza only has her nightgown to pull off over her head, but Laurens and Alexander are both fully dressed. She goes to the bed and lies down there to watch them. They quickly and efficiently strip themselves to total nakedness, but although they may not be touching she does not miss the soft glances they exchange as their eyes fall on each other’s bodies. 

Alexander walks towards her, arousal bobbing unashamedly, and she pulls him onto the bed and kisses his spit-slick mouth hard. 

“Are you sure, my love?” he murmurs against her ear, his arousal pressing hard against her hip.

“Quite sure,” she says back, loud enough for Laurens to hear, who is by the side of the bed and picking up the jar of oil from the paper the phallus was wrapped in. He looks barely able to contain himself from the sight of the scene in front of him, his eyes bright and wide.

“Laurens, please,” Alexander says, eyes still on Eliza. “Your fingers, so that my wife may…” He breaks off, but smiles encouragingly at Eliza, and for a moment there is only the sound of Laurens opening the jar and coating his fingers in its contents. Alexander leans back from Eliza so that he is still above her, but on his knees and lower arms. Laurens seats himself behind Alexander, and swiftly pushes his two longest fingers into Alexander, both at once. Like this, Alexander’s face is so close to hers. She gets to see exactly how his mouth slackens at Laurens’s entry, followed by a twist of discomfort in his expression.

“Alexander?” Eliza whispers. “If you do not wish–”

“Fine, I am fine,” Alexander gasps, as the sound comes of Laurens sliding his fingers almost all the way out, then back again. “It is sometimes a little… at first, especially if it’s been a while since… My love, come to me,” he says, and kisses Eliza tenderly. It makes her heart beat harder, but Alexander is soon too distracted to kiss her properly; his slick lips slide away from hers as he gives out a moan. “John,” says Alexander. “Oh, John.”

Eliza takes her eyes from Alexander’s face, and looks between Alexander’s arms and legs to see Laurens’s unflagging hardness rest against his own stomach. Due to Alexander’s position above her, she cannot see his face. Heat pulses between her thighs as she returns her gaze to her husband’s dark eyelashes flat against his cheeks as his eyes flutter closed in pleasure and, every now and then, the way his own heavy cock, hanging between his legs, twitches over Laurens’s skillful administrations. She considers lowering her hand to give herself a little pressure, but she does not want to disturb the tableau above her at present.

Laurens, Eliza can see through the gap, returns to the jar to use a liberal amount of its contents, and can assume from the low sound Alexander makes against her chest that he has added another finger.

Alexander’s loose hair falls downwards against Eliza, and she starts to feel it brush back and forth against her breasts as Alexander, shaking slightly, begins to shift himself backwards and forwards on Laurens’s fingers. While Alexander’s head is down, Eliza allows herself a secretive smile. Here he is, she thinks, thinking back to when she rode his mouth. Not having to think, not being able to think, without power, a receptacle, an enabler of pleasure, and she thinks she understands this too.

“More,” Alexander says. “Do not tease me so, Laurens, I need _more_.”

Not enough distraction, not enough satisfaction; there can always, it seems, be more. 

“I think,” Laurens says, and Eliza hears the sound Alexander makes at what must be the loss of Laurens’s touch, his second quiet moan at Laurens’s hand flat over his buttocks – she hears the sound of skin on skin. “I think it is time to pass you over to your wife.”

Alexander, breathing hard, sits up in a kneeling position, revealing Laurens behind him, whose eyes are full of adoration. Laurens reaches around Alexander with his whole hand coated in the oil, and Alexander’s eyes widen, as if he thinks for a moment Laurens’s hand is for relief of _his_ arousal, but instead Laurens coats Eliza’s phallus with an assuredly effective movement.

“How would you like him?” Laurens asks her, his voice thick. “He looks so good on his hands and knees, or you can have him lie back and take him as if he is a maiden on her wedding night.”

“Anything, please,” Alexander babbles out. His cock twitches again. “Hurry, please, Eliza and decide. I need you inside me,” and there is a throb that comes between her thighs over seeing Alexander so desperate, but also as she has the power – she is about to fill him. She can even make him wait, if she wishes. And she wishes, if only to make him wait for a very short while, though to Alexander it may seem like an eternity.

“I am not too sure,” she says, worrying a finger over her bottom lip, letting her gaze playfully run over the whole of Alexander. From only this, Alexander moans in frustration and begins to rub his hardness against the heel of his hand.

“Stop that,” Eliza says, and Alexander, with an even louder moan, takes his hand away.

“Please,” he says. “I need it.”

She considers Alexander’s earlier position. His arms may tire if he is made to keep his weight on them, but after seeing the way he looked on Laurens’s fingers, she decides she nevertheless wants to see him move like that on _her_.

“I will stay exactly as I am,” Eliza says. “And you will do the work.”

Stumbling on his knees, Alexander understands, moves forward. He pushes himself upwards, and stays poised just above the carved head.

“May I?” he says softly, looking down at her, and she says, grasping at the base to steady it, “Yes, you may.”

With his face covered in an expression both of lust and of relief, Alexander pushes himself down and seats himself above her, taking the ivory almost as far down as where it is attached to the harness. He draws himself up and then down again, shifting a little to find the right position. “Oh, Eliza,” he says. “You are perfection.”

To watch him full is to fill herself with want and wonder, as she takes in Alexander’s blissful expression and his somewhat broken moans. Alexander _loves_ this, it is clear, his thighs shaking as he raises and lowers himself on her in broad, dirty slides. His cock bounces as he moves down and up, and he lets his head fall back as he speeds up his movement, huffs of breath coming out of him on each stroke.

Eliza tears her eyes away from Alexander for a moment to seek out Laurens, who is sitting behind Alexander, slightly to the side. His slick hand is stroking himself to the time of Alexander’s movements, his enthralled eyes dancing between the back of Alexander’s neck and the point where he and Laurens’s gift to Eliza join. Laurens then looks to her, smiling in a dazed sort of way, and she smiles back.

“Touch me,” Alexander gasps out, and there is only one part of him he can mean. Laurens, with a slightly wicked smile, promises Alexander that he will, but instead of reaching around to attend to Alexander’s cock, he takes the hand still covered in oil and pushes his middle finger into Alexander to the second knuckle, then the base.

“ _John,_ ” Alexander moans, his breathing speeding up again into little pants, and he stops moving from the shock of it. He must be so stretched, Eliza thinks, so _open_ for both of them together.

Laurens moves his lips to Alexander’s neck and, on Eliza’s tiny nod in answer to his silent question, he nuzzles against the sweat-covered skin there. “You slut, Hamilton,” Laurens murmurs. “Always wanting more.” And Eliza is watching, so carefully, as Alexander’s breathing halts as if the wind has been knocked from him.

“Can you take another?” Laurens says. “If I decide to give it to you?” and Alexander replies with a tiny ‘mm’ of assent, half-swallowed down. 

Eliza watches Laurens flexes a second finger and from the tip, slides it in besides all else that is in there. Alexander is so _good_ for this, and to think this was a talent that she’d never experienced prior to. Her nervousness has vanished in the face of his pleasure. Before she has really thought about what she is voicing, Eliza says: “Have you ever tried… I mean to say, is it possible…?” 

Both men pause to look at her. She turns to Laurens. “Could we both–?”

“ _Oh!_ ,” Alexander says, eyes widening, and Eliza’s stomach flips over. She can feel she is flushed, from desire and her (albeit limited) exertion, but she is not blushing from her suggestion, and, feeling mischievous, she looks at Alexander with a flirtatious smile.

“I want to try it,” Alexander says, his cock flexing as Laurens pulls on himself with his free hand in one long, full stroke. “I need it. I need to.” 

Alexander lifts himself off. Eliza shuffles up the bed so that she is propped up against the headboard, picking up the jar of oil and coating the ivory in a fresh layer of slickness. Alexander, seemingly automatically, follows her, still on his knees. She looks to Laurens, on the verge of nervous laughter, but Laurens, it seems, has an idea as to the practicalities: he lies in a mirror image of Eliza at the other end of the bed, and invites her to lay her legs over his, so that their cocks meet in the middle. On a side-by-side inspection, Laurens is well-proportioned, and Eliza, concerned, wonders whether Alexander will be able to manage what she has rashly proposed.

Laurens takes up the jar now, slicks himself up again, fills Alexander again using three fingers all at once. They seem to barely trouble him now. Alexander then moves to sit atop them sideways, feet on the bed and a steadying hand on the wall behind them.

Alexander takes several deep breaths before sinking down once again onto Eliza’s harnessed device. Laurens slides a single finger alongside them again, but Alexander groans out. “For the love of God, just do it,” he says. “I am as ready for you both together as I ever will be.” Laurens makes a noise of pleasure in response, just as Eliza feels her stomach swoop again.

Sensing Alexander’s desperation, Laurens lies back, grasps the base of his cock with a quiet moan and pushes the head into Alexander. Alexander’s whole body starts to tremble as he struggles to hold himself up. Inch by incremental inch, he pushes further and further up into Alexander, strain evident in his thighs, until Alexander is taking him to the base. 

Eliza can feel the heat of Laurens against her sweat-slicked legs, her sticky thighs. Alexander’s eyes are closed and his head falls back. He looks as if there is nothing to remember.

“Are you,” Eliza swallows. “ _Full_ , Alexander?”

“Filled, fulfilled, I–” Alexander starts, his hair in disarray, sweat across his brow as he clenches his eyes closed more tightly.

“Can you move like this?” Laurens asks, sounding strained. “You are so close around me.” 

Alexander moves up, slowly. His eyes open for a moment, wet from tears.

“You’ve done enough work for one night,” Laurens says, low and level yet filled with tension. “Perhaps we should lie you down and move ourselves within you from there.”

“I can take it,” Alex grunts out, skin so coated in sweat, eyes so open as he gives an incremental shift down onto both of them and starts breathing in fast, short breaths. “Remain exactly as you are. I can carry on.”

“Of course you can, dearest,” Eliza says soothingly. “You can do anything you want to do.”

“That’s hardly what we’re saying, Hamilton,” Laurens says, a slightly sharper tone to his voice. His hand goes to Alexander’s behind – Alexander is once again seated completely within them – and Alexander shudders, giving out a short moan, and Eliza follows everything. “You will do anything we command you to do; it is not your choice.”

Alexander groans as Laurens gives his behind a quick slap. “Yes, Colonel,” he says. Eliza has to hide her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh. They are of identical rank! Yet that seemed to matter little in this moment, as Alexander rests his gaze on Laurens.

“It is so much,” Alexander says in a tiny voice. “Please do not leave me alone.”

“Hamilton,” Laurens says, near-perfunctory, but still sounding strained, aroused as he must be. “I want to drive myself into you before dawn breaks, and we cannot do that this way. Therefore, we will change positions.” Alexander gives a silent nod, then turns to Eliza.

“I do not want the emptiness, even for a moment,” Alexander rasps out. “Even if it may be too much.” Another few quick breaths and he pulls himself up again on his own thighs before slamming himself back down to their hilts. His own cock has not flagged; it is still hard, deep in color and shiny with fluid at the tip.

"We expect nothing of you here,” Laurens says, and Alexander threatens to look aghast. “That is to say, Hamilton,” he clarifies, “that we are not the Continental Congress. You do not have to work so damn hard. We will take care of you."

“We can change position so we never leave you, I am sure,” Eliza says optimistically.

They do not quite manage it. Eliza holds Alexander close and carefully makes a quarter turn so that she is lying on her side, then Alexander, just as carefully, moves so that he is lying on his back in the middle of the bed, his legs spread and bent back so that his knees are at his shoulders. Laurens has to remove himself from Alexander while this change of position occurs. In the few moments this movement takes, Alexander whines loudly until Laurens lies beside him on the opposite side and, achingly slowly, enters him again.

It is difficult for both of them to move at the same time, even asynchronously, so Eliza is happy to stay still and pepper Alexander’s shoulder with kisses and watch him fall apart as Laurens rocks back and forth within him. Alexander lets forth a litany of moans, keeps his face to the ceiling and blasphemes through a now-hoarse throat. The sight makes Eliza put a hand to herself, long neglected, and put herself on her own path to completion.

“The president’s name, Hamilton,” Laurens asks him between thrusts with a smile, and Alexander, utterly overwhelmed, can only respond with a plaintive “W–; W–”, before he has to breathe in so hard that he loses his train of thought. Laurens laughs, not unkindly, and places a kiss to Alexander’s temple.

“ _Please_ ,” Alexander slurs between his fast breaths. It is not a precise request, but Laurens nevertheless speeds up, as fast as he can go considering how tight and full Alexander is. He reaches up to gently squeeze Alexander’s cock, then moves his hand upon him only a few times before Alexander is spending himself forcefully, covering his chest in his own release. The sight causes Eliza’s own wave of pleasure to wash over her at last; she feels herself pulse against her slick hand. Only when she opens her eyes after her aftershocks have subsided does she realize Laurens, still hard, has slowed to a stop, great strain showing on his face.

“Keep going, keep going,” Alexander says to Laurens.

“It is going to be too much,” Laurens says quietly.

“I want it to be too much,” Alexander says, taking in gulps of air, his eyes glassy again. “I deserve it to be too much.”

 _No,_ Eliza mouths against Alexander’s neck, but she does not say it; she understands now, she has decided, and she understands that Alexander _needs_ not to hear it from her in this moment.

Laurens, with an understandably low level of self control, begins to thrust without slowing, letting Alexander’s body writhe and his stretched entrance twitch. It only takes a few moments more before Laurens finishes with a grunt-like shout.

After he has finished, he slowly pulls out, then Eliza at last withdraws after him. Alexander lies exhausted on the bed, his own release covering his chest and Laurens’s release beginning to run from his entrance. At the sight, Eliza feels a faint dark contraction of pleasure.

With some reservedness, she at last removes the harness and places it to one side, then puts her nightgown back on. Laurens picks up Alexander’s undershirt from the floor and wipes Alexander clean of the worst of the mess. Eliza puts out the candles. They both crawl back into bed, exchanging a gentle, happy smile with each other. Alexander, who opens his eyes and gives a small, delighted laugh, remains in the middle between them.

Laurens, evidently spent, falls asleep immediately.

“Was I good for you?” Eliza asks Alexander, cupping his face in her hand. “I always wish to check, although this time I barely feel I need to ask. Did this have the desired effect?”

“Beyond my wildest dreams,” Alexander tells her. “I love you very much.” He kisses her once on the lips before lying back and closing his eyes, and she stays lying on her side, holding her body against his. She watches, eyelids heavy, as Alexander reaches out on his other side to grasp hold of Laurens’s hand. And it is to the thought of this, and Alexander’s final words to her, that Eliza drifts to sleep herself.

*

 

_–Your loving sister,  
A.C._

_P.S. Eliza, I received a letter from your husband. I expected Col. Laurens to provide you perhaps with an explanatory note or testimony, and probably the device in question, but not to include himself along with these generous gifts. Nevertheless, it sounds like everything worked out alright. It seems Alexander does not have the same self-preventative instinct as you and I do to not write everything down._

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks go to [Poose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose), without whom this fic wouldn't have existed, as i) she dragged me into this fandom I swear and ii) she fixed my mistakes and moved this on from _hey eliza, here's this dildo, ttyl, jl_ to something that resembles coherency.
> 
> You're all lovely. Come and talk to me on [tumblr](http://wreathedwith.tumblr.com/).


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